Some things really don't change Johnlock
by CrimsonRomancex
Summary: "What are you afraid of?" "That you will disappear." There was silence for a long moment and then John felt long arms pulling him into an embrace, John suddenly felt the urge to cry but he quickly pushed the feeling aside, he wouldn't cry. He had done enough crying in the last few weeks, enough for a life time. "I'm not going anywhere, John, not without you." "Sherlock..."
1. Chapter 1

The rain got heavier as Dr. John Watson walked the usual route back to 221B Baker Street. He had stayed longer than usual, he noted, as he glanced up at the now darkening sky. It had been two weeks, only two weeks since the funeral of his friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Since that day John's new routine had consisted of getting up, having a cuppa, visiting Sherlock's grave and thinking, just thinking. Thinking of when's and where's, how's and why's. The most painful of all for Dr. Watson, were the if's.

What if? What if Sherlock hadn't jumped? What if Sherlock was still alive? What if he had listened to the people who knew him and Sherlock, the ones that insisted they were a couple? What if he had tried?

He would stay at the grave and think for hours barely keeping track of time until all the unanswered questions grew to be too much and he had to leave, go home and escape into the realms of sleep. If only for a few precious hours. Then he would do it all over again the next day.

John sighed and turned the collar of his coat up against the rain. His clothes were now drenched and he was beginning to shiver slightly. John muttered a curse under his breath. Why hadn't he thought to bring an umbrella? The rain was still going strong and he was quite a bit away from home. John was just thinking to himself that he was most likely going to catch a cold when the rain suddenly stopped.

It took him a moment to realise that the rain hadn't actually stopped but rather something was covering him, shielding him from the downpour. John looked up to see the black material of an umbrella obscuring his view of the night sky.

"For a doctor you really do seem to care so little about your own health." A voice said.

John froze and his breathing halted as his mind registered the voice coming from behind him. A voice he would recognise anywhere. He wanted to turn around and make sure that his assumption was right but he was afraid that if he did turn around the illusion would break and he would be alone.

"John?" The voice implored.

John closed his eyes and inhaled. It had been too long since he had heard the rich, deep voice of his best friend, his roommate, his colleague.

"John, look at me." The voice demanded.

John couldn't help but chuckle. He was still as bossy and impatient as ever. John slowly turned, eyes still closed until he was facing the general direction of where the voice was coming from. He heard a huff of exasperation and couldn't help grinning like a fool. Some things really don't change, not even in death. John winced at the thought and quickly shoved it aside.

"Will you look at me already?" The voice asked.

John was able to feel warm breath caressing his face. It felt real, but this couldn't be real. Could it?

"No." John said simply, and felt rather than heard the voice sigh in response.

"I'm scared." John admitted to the voice, knowing full well that this was the only person in the world that he would admit something like this to.

"What are you afraid of?" The voice asked sounding half exasperated, half concerned.

"That you will disappear." John replied.

There was silence for a long moment and then John felt long arms pulling him into an embrace. John suddenly felt the urge to cry but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. He wouldn't cry. He had done enough crying in the last few weeks, enough for a lifetime.

"I'm not going anywhere, John, not without you." Sherlock said.

John felt long fingers tugging at his chin, forcing him to look up. John could feel breath hitting against his face and he couldn't stand not looking anymore. He slowly opened his eyes to see the sharp cheek bones, supple lips and hypnotic eyes of his best friend. John slowly reached up with one hand and placed it on the man's face, just to make sure he was really there. As John's fingers made contact with the smooth skin of his cheek the urge to cry became too strong to ignore any longer.

"Sherlock," was all John said as the tears started to roll down his cheeks.

Sherlock Holmes smiled slightly as his fingers gripped John's chin more securely and lowered his head down until their lips were almost touching.

"John. " Sherlock said before closing the small distance between them and pressing his lips lightly against John's.

John jumped awake finding himself in Sherlocks bed, where he had been sleeping since Sherlocks death, drenched in his own sweat. The room was still fairly dark, indicating that it was early morning. Maybe 3 am, John though to himself as the reality of what just happened hit him. It was just a dream, only a dream he realised as his eyes started to water. John sat up hugging his knees to his chest as he gave himself over to grief. The tears ran freely down his face as huge sobs racked through his body.

About an hour passed before John was able to pull himself together. Once his body has stopped shaking and the tears had finally dried up, John lay back down on the bed. He snuggled his face into the pillow and inhaled. Sherlock's scent had started to fade, being replaced with his own, John noticed with displeasure.

Another hour passed before John gave up on the idea of going back to sleep, the feeling of Sherlock's lips on his own haunting him. With a sigh John got out of bed and walked on weak legs towards the living room. Maybe a cup of tea would help.

The room was pitch black as the curtains were shut, so John stumbled about until he reacted the light switch. The bright light blinded John for a moment before his eyes adjusted and he was able to make out the scene in front of him. The living room looked the same as always; two armchairs in front of the fireplace on one side, and the coffee table in front of the sofa on the other.

The only difference was that there was now a figure lying on the couch. The figure's arm was slightly over his face, shielding his eyes from the light. He was looking right into John's eyes. John was frozen, he couldn't move a muscle. Slowly the figure rose from the couch and make his way towards John until he was standing right in front of him.

"I'm home, John, " was all Sherlock said.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm home John" Sherlock said as he looked down at John, studying his completion, as though this was the last time he would be able to gaze upon the handsome face before him. Oh how he had missed this man, his best friend. How he had missed every single one of his feature; his cheekbones, his lips, his nose, but the one Sherlock had missed most of all was his eyes. Those eyes that, when happy, would come alive and sparkle and dance in their blue depths, making Sherlock feel warm and whole inside. Making him feel safe.

Sherlock had imagined a thousand different scenarios where he told, or rather, showed John that he wasn't dead, over the last few weeks. In every one John always had a different reaction, ranging from angry to happy to disappointed: the disappointed reactions were the hardest one for Sherlock. In which he imaged his best friend looking at him with disappointment and disgust,for deceiving and lying to him, before turning his back in sherlock and walking out of his life forever.

It surprised and, to be honest, scared Sherlock each time he realised just how vital this man had become to his well being and happiness in such a short space of time. After all they had only known each other for 18 months, hardly any time at all when compared to the grand scheme of things. And yet in that short space of time Sherlock had learnt a great deal and had gained so much more.

He now had someone who could listen to his deductions of everything and everyone, even them-self and still think he was brilliant. A person who knew what he could do and still not think him a freak. Someone who could know every bad trait he had to ofer and still remains unswervingly loyal. He had gained a friend, the first he had ever had. He had gained John. And he never wanted to lose him.

Sherlock watched as a range of emotions danced across Johns face; first there was surprise, followed by pain, joy, confusion and then disappointment, Sherlock flinched slightly at that one, before finally settling on anger. Sherlock wanted to say something to his friend, to try and atone for the pain he had cause him over the last few weeks, but Sherlock was at odds as for what to say: apologise maybe? But Sherlock knew that an apology would only serve to anger John more, so Sherlock remains silent.

John opened his mouth, looking as if he was going to say something, then abruptly closes it again flexing his jaw.

Sherlock swallowed, about to open his mouth to speak, when suddenly he felt something hard colliding with the side of his face. Pain lance through his left cheek as his head quickly snapped to the side from the force of the blow. It took a moment for Sherlock to recover from the shock and then he looked at John.

John was standing straight, shoulders back and head held high, making him look taller that he actually was. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides and his whole body was shaking slightly, his eyes brimming with tears. It was only then that Sherlock realised what had happened. John had punched him.

Sherlock slowly raised his hand to his cheek prodding slightly at the place when Johns fist had connected with his face and winced slightly. John certainly hasn't held back Sherlock noted to himself.

Sherlock didn't have time to process much more than that before Johns hand reached up and grabbed the front of his purple silk shirt. John tugged sharply on the material forcing Sherlocks head to snap forward until their noses were practically touching. John through his other arm up and around Sherlocks neck, his hand grabbing a fist full of dark curly hair before suddenly locking their mouths together in a fiery kiss.

John was kissing him. John was kissing him! And he was kissing John back! The fingers in Sherlock hair tightened and it was only just not painful but oh sweet torture thought Sherlock. He didn't want it to stop he realised as he wrapped one arm around the back of Johns waist pulling him closer to Sherlock, until their entire bodies were pressed right up against each others. His other hand found its way to Johns chin and was now cupped underneath it forcing his chin to stay in place as their kiss deepened becoming less fiery and violent. It was becoming softer somehow but still just as powerful. It wasn't until his teeth gently grazed johns lower lip that John pulled away. Sherlock didn't want to let go but knew he had no choice as John started squirming, trying to free himself from Sherlocks steel grip.

Once they had untangled them-selfs from each other it took a good few moments for the pair to regain their breath but once they had John refused to look back up at Sherlock, must to his annoyance, much preferring to keep his gaze locked on the floor. Silence fell for a few minutes, though it felt like hours to Sherlock. before John finally straightened his shoulders and looked back up at Sherlock, his eyes empty and his face devoid of emotion as he spoke,

"I'm sorry, that won't happen again." Sherlock could clearly see that John was now in full on soldier mode and that there would be no point in trying to talk about it, though Sherlock had to admit to himself that the words John spoke hurt Sherlock more than he cared to admit.

Why wouldn't it happen again? Because John was repelled by him and what he had done? Because he, Sherlock, was impossible to love? Because John wasn't interest in trying to be with someone as damaged as him?

It suddenly became painstakingly clear why John didn't want it to happen again, he just wasn't interested. He had simply been in shock at the time and had acted without any thought or feeling towards the action. Something inside Sherlock broke at that moment as he realised that he loved John but John didn't return the feeling.

Sherlock straightened his shoulders and looked squarely into Johns eye, locking away all his emotions: determined not to make any further a fool out of himself.

"No it won't." Sherlock agreed as he made his way to his bedroom as John retreated upstairs to his own.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been almost three weeks since the night Sherlock had returned to 221B and for John Watson life was back to normal, almost. The only differences were; no one could know Sherlock was back so sherlock couldn't go outside or go of and solve crimes, they had also had to leave 221B, at least for the time being, and John now knew that he had feeling for Sherlock. He had realised this fact long before that damned kiss though, it had been back when Sherlock jumped and John had thought that he had lost his best friend for John to finally understand.

John could remember going back to therapy after Sherlocks 'death' and his therapist asking him to tell her what he wished he had said to Sherlock but he hadn't been able to say it. How could he say to her that he was in love with Sherlock when he was still trying to wrap his own head around it? It was like that saying "you never realise what you have until its gone." It had been agonising for John, especially after the dreams started happening, dreaming of what could have been and then waking up to the hell that his life had very quickly became. John had lost count of the amount of times he had prayed for another chance, a second chance to do it right, promising everything and anything he had to offer in return. And now he had been offered another chance but was too scared to take it. Scared that Sherlock didn't feel the same but more importantly scared that Sherlock would rip out his heart again. But john knew the truth: his heart was Sherlocks and had been for a very long time.

They hadn't spoke about the kiss, not once. The just acted like it never happened. Like it was nothing more than another one of Johns 'possibility' dreams. It was driving him insane! He didn't know how to think or feel about the entire situation, did Sherlock feel the same? After all the had kissed him back! But if he did then why was he acting like the kiss had never happened? And if he didn't feel the same then why had he kissed him back?! Sherlock was driving John crazy! And John didn't know how to handle it.

They where sitting in the 'living room' of there new apartment, the place was small and shabby but it was cheep and would have to do for now. There was only one sofa which folded out into Sherlocks bed, John had originally intended to take the sofa bed but Sherlock had insisted that john take the bed room and in the end John hasn't seen the point in arguing about it. At either end of the dark green sofa were two rickety side tables, with an old rusted lamp on one and a rather bashed in alarm clock in the others, Directly in front of the sofa was a small, slightly rotted, wooden cabinet with an old faded grey tv on top.

The two men where seated on either end of the small sofa each with a mug of tea in hand and watching some random crime channel that neither of them were really watching, what was the point? Sherlock had already told John that it was the teacher who had committed all the cereal killings after the only watching the first 5 minutes of the program and John knew better than to doubt Sherlock deductions. So they both just sat there, in a rather awkward silence, bored. John wanted to say something to break the silence but had no idea what to say.

"So..." John began rather pathetically "... So how are you?"

John mentally kicked himself, how are you? That was the best he could do?! Sherlock stared at him rather amused for a moment before saying,

"I'm fine John, how are you?"

John smiled slightly, he was glad that Sherlock was indulging him,

"I'm great." He said a bit too enthusiastically. Sherlock chuckled as he reaches over and rumpled Johns hair lightly. John batted the hand away but was laughing. After a moment Sherlock said,

"I am sorry John." John was taken aback for a moment, it was very rare for Sherlock to offer up an apology by his own free will.

"For what?" John asked still slightly dazed. Sherlock turned so as to look him full on, his silvery blue/green eyes wide and hypnotising.

"For leave. For lying..." Sherlock flinched slightly before continuing "... For hurting you." John couldn't look at Sherlock, afraid that he would see his eyes watering slightly at the memories of all though pain filled thinking that his friend was dead.

"Shit, John I..."

"Just don't Sherlock." John pleaded. But Sherlock didn't listen to him, like always.

"I did it to protect you, you Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. He would have had you all killed if I hadn't." John knew that be he Sherlock meant Moriarty.

"Okay but you didn't need to lie to me, you could have told me!" John said starting to get angry at Sherlock. After all the pain he had put him through he had the nerve to sit there and say he done it to protect him?!

"I couldn't..." Sherlock began but John interrupted him,

"Don't you trust me?" Johns voice was louder than usually but he wasn't quite shouting yet, though he wanted to.

"It was never a question of trust, I did what was best for..."

"No!" John was shouting now " no, you did what was best for you, with no thought to anyone else feelings, like always! It's no wonder you've been alone for so long!" John regretted the words as soon as he spoke them but it was too late to take them back now. John watched as Sherlocks face hardened and he stood up, it wasn't until then that John realised that he was already standing. When had he stood up?

" I did what was best for everyone! And I chose to be alone! I'd rather be alone than spend my time making an utter fool out of myself chasing after people who are clearly not interested!" Sherlocks words cut John like knives leaving him broken and gasping for air. Tears pricked his eyes and this time John didn't have the strength to stop them. John couldn't believe that he had been so stupid, of course Sherlock had never been interested in him, after all he wasn't cleaver or brilliant, nothing special. Why would a man like Sherlock want someone as ordinary and mundane him? John could see the regret in Sherlocks eyes but it was too late, John knew the truth now.

"Sod this" John muttered and walked towards the door, not bothering to get his coat.

"John wait." Sherlock said as he grabbed his arm "John I didn't... I mean I wasn't... I'm sorry"

John just shrugged him off, he couldn't deal with Sherlock just now, and walked out slamming the door behind him.

John dried his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he took the stairs three at a time. John was in such a hurry to escape that he didn't notice that someone was standing at the bottom of the stairs until he crashed into them. Sending the books that had been in there hands flying. John mutter an apology as he bent down and started picking up the scattered books. Once he had picked them up he turned to see a young woman staring at him, one hand over her mouth as if she was trying to stop herself from laughing. John blushed as he handed the books over,

"Sorry." He muttered quietly, looking down at the ground. The girl let out a delicate giggled and he looked up at her, she was very pretty, small framed with blond hair and big blue eyes.

"It's okay," she said, her voice small and very feminine "There is no need to apologize" John smiled slightly at her as she continued " though if you really sorry there is a coffee shop just down the road..." She trailed of suggestively. John was about to decline when he remembered Sherlocks words. Determined to prove Sherlock wrong John smiled at the girl,

"Want to go for a coffee? My treat?" The girl smiled and nodded her head causing her blond curls to bounce slightly.

" Just let me drop these off." She said nodding towards the books

Once she had returned they started walking down towards the coffee shop. She was a very pleasant girl John noted to himself as he found himself smiling and laughing with her.

"Oh..." John said remembering his manners " I'm John by the way."

The girl smiled warmly up at him holding out her hand to John which he took in his,

"Mary"


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock couldn't believe how much of an idiot he had been for saying those things to John and driving him into that damned woman's path!

In the beginning, when John started going out with 'her' he hadn't been too concerned but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks morphed into months Sherlock began to worry that he might be losing John again. Only this time for good.

Sherlock was furiously typing away at the computer when John came home that day, Sherlock didn't pay any attention to him at first: expecting him to go into the kitchen and make a cuppa tea, like always, but when John instead crossed the small space of the living room only to look out the small window directly in front of the desk he was working at Sherlocks interest was peaked. As John was staring out the window, refusing to make direct eye contact with Sherlock, he didn't notice the consulting detective studying his features intently. Within a matter of moments Sherlock knew exactly what was up with John and it shattered his heart.

Jaw clenched and lips pressed tightly together: something hard to say. Eyes hard and refusing to look at Sherlock but they had an underlying softness to them: something he didn't want to tell Sherlock but John was happy about whatever he couldn't say.

There weren't many things that made John happy that he felt he couldn't tell Sherlock so that narrowed the list considerably.

His clothes were formal, new blue shirt, plain black jacket and his best black trousers: usually John wore jeans so this must be something special for him, some sort of special occasion maybe.

There was a smallish thing in his pocket, a phone? No a box of some sort...

Sherlock felt like he had just been plunged into ice water as he fitted the pieces together.

The small box was clearly for some sort of jewellery but it was too small to fit anything other than a pair of earrings or a ring inside. Why would John be nervous to tell Sherlock that he had bought earrings? So it had to be a ring, an engagement ring. John was going to purpose to Mary...

There were traces of some sort of sauce residue on the corners of his mouth: he had just had a meal, most likely Italian.

His body seemed to radiate both nervousness and an underlying joy and happiness: the nervousness was clearly about telling Sherlock, not asking Mary which could only mean one thing, he already had.

He had asked her to marry him and she, of course, had said yes.

It took Sherlock a couple of moments to compose himself, not wanting to let John know how utterly heartbroken he was. Once he was certain that his voice wouldn't crack he said,

"So she said yes." The question he had intended to ask came out sounding more like a statement.

John jumped slightly and then turned his whole body to face Sherlock, eyes still refusing to look directly at him.

"You know. Of course you know" Johns voice was surprisingly small and in that moment he looked like a small child, afraid of the future. Sherlock wanted to get up and embrace him, tell him that everything would be okay but he restrained himself knowing that John might not value his comfort.

"Yes." Was all that Sherlock said.

"Is that all your going to say?" John asked him.

"Congratulations" the word burnt like acid in his mouth. John just stared at the ground not saying anything. After a long pause Sherlock asked,

"What do you want me to say?"

John looked up quickly his eyes locking with Sherlocks for a moment and then he looked down again,

"Nothing, I just... I mean... I didn't think you'd take it so well." John finally said with a shrug.

"Why wouldn't I take it well?" Sherlock asked trying to hold onto his composure and not let John know just how badly he was taking the news. John just shrugged again not saying anything. After a long stretch of silence John finally asked Sherlock,

"Will you be my best man?"

Sherlocks walls came crashing down, he could feel his eyes watering and the pain flash across his face for just a sort second before he regained control and the walls came slamming back into place.

"I can't." Johns eyes widened slightly at Sherlocks answer.

"How not?" John asked genuinely curious.

"The whole 'everyone thinks I'm dead' thing makes it kind if difficult." Sherlock smirked slightly as John let out a startled laugh.

"Of course, I forgot." John said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Sherlock didn't quite understand why this hurt him, why should it?

"... But I still want you to be there." John piped up.

"Oh sure we can just dye my hair orange for the day or maybe get one of those oversized floppy hats." Sherlock chuckled at the image in his head. John smiled at Sherlock before continuing,

"I'm serious, your my best friend and I need you there."

"Don't worry John we have plenty of time to work it out.." At seeing John grimaced Sherlock began to panic "...don't we?" Sherlocks voice was suddenly very weak as he felt the crushing fear inside of him. Time he needed time! Time to hope and greave and recover. 'Please give me time' Sherlock pleaded, time to except this horrid ending to all his hopes and dreams. John, very slowly, moved his head back and forward. All the wind was knocked out of Sherlock, leaving him gasping for air.

"How long?" Sherlock choked out, not bothering to hide his pain anymore. John looked at him with a mixture of sympathetically and guilt before answering,

"A month"

Not enough time. Sherlock stood abruptly, not bothering with pretences now and headed straight for his room.

"Sherlock!" John shouted after him but he didn't stop, he had to keep moving. He had to get away. Slamming the rooms door behind him Sherlock slide to the floor hugging his knees to his chest and allowed the tears, he had been trying so hard to hold back, to fall. Sherlock could hear John knocking on the door and calling him name repeatedly, desperately, but he ignored him.

Then there was silence for what felt like an eternity before Sherlock heard John say, voice low and breaking and full of pain,

"I'm... So sorry... Please... Forgive me..."

Through the door Sherlock could hear Johns quiet sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

John, lying on the still slightly sticky green couch, glanced over at the small digital alarm clock resting on the far end corner of the desk and sighed. It was 2 am and Sherlock still wasn't back yet: he had rushed out the door some six hours ago, saying something about a case. It wasn't until after he had left that John realise that no one except himself and Greg knew that Sherlock was alive and that if he was going to a case the rest of Scotland Yard would most likely be surrounding the place. Though it hadn't surprised John too much: for the last three weeks Sherlock had been making up a stream of constant excuses to be out of the flat and away from John. He groaned as he thought about the night he told Sherlock he was going to marry Mary, well rather Sherlock told him.

Since then they hadn't so much as uttered a word to each other aside from Sherlock telling him that he was going out and even then he would disappear before John could say anything in return.

In the beginning he had let it slide figuring that Sherlock just needed some space and time to adjust but as the weeks passed with no visible improvement John decided to take matters into his own hands. So now here he was waiting for Sherlock to return and desperately trying to keep his eyes open. Only a few more minutes, just a... Little... Bit... Lon...ger...

John jerked awake, it took him a moments to realise that he had fallen asleep and that there was now sunlight streaming through the open window opposite him. He wanted to kick himself, well done Watson well done! He though sarcastically to himself as he stretched, pleased to find that sleeping on the couch hasn't hurt his neck or back.

There was a sudden clatter from the kitchen and John was instantly on guard,  
"Shit!" A voice that he would recognise anywhere, came from the kitchen. John couldn't help the smile that spread across his face when he realised that it was Sherlock who had swore.  
"Sherlock?" John managed to crock out, even though there wasn't a doubt in his mind about who was there. When there came no reply John staggered to his feet and headed into the kitchen where he found Sherlock making a pot of tea, eggs, bacon and toast. Sherlock cooking? Something wasn't right here. Sherlock turned and smiled, his rare smile: a smile that was like a warm blanket wrapping John up in its warmth and promising that everything would be right in the world.  
" Good morning." He said cheerfully, Sherlock was cooking, smiling and being cheerful? What the fuck had he missed?  
"Morning?" John asked hesitantly. Sherlock turned so that his whole body was facing him. A puzzled look on the detectives face.  
"Is something wrong John?"  
"It's just.." John turn to look behind him, the living room look exactly the same and no one was behind him so why was he feeling so uneasy? When he turned back around Sherlock was standing right in front him. John let out a small yelp and jumped back in surprise but as he did the heel of his foot caught on the door frame causing him to lose his balance and start to fall hip first, it was going to hurt... A lot. Or rather it would have if long lean arms hadn't wrapped themselves around his torso in a steal grip.  
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked as he pulled John up so he was standing on his feet again.  
"Ye-yeah I'm fine" John said awkwardly as he waited for Sherlock to let go of him.

Only he didn't.

Instead Sherlock lent forward and very gently pressed his lips against Johns. For a moment he was frozen as he felt the light pressure on his lips and then his hands were somehow in Sherlocks hair as he eagerly responded to the kiss. Suddenly Johns back was pressed up against the kitchen wall and Sherlocks hands were at his thighs pushing him further up the wall so that they were on the same height. John lightly tugged on his hair, feeling the soft silkiness beneath his finger tips, causing the consulting detective to let out a small moan: allowing John tongue entrance into his mouth.

Eventually John had to break the kiss so he could breath but Sherlocks mouth never lost contact with him, trailing small kisses down his bloggers throat until he reached the base of his neck, where he tenderly nipped and sucked johns skin leaving little love bites here and there. John through his head back and let out a deep guttural moan. He would have been embarrassed at making such a noise if not for the fact that Sherlock, almost immediately, made the same noise. John didn't want Sherlock to stop what he was doing but at the same time his body craved more. 'Oh god!' John thought to himself as he felt a hand very slowly moving up and down his thigh making small circular motions as it went.  
It took John a moment to realise that something was wrong before suddenly jumping awake.

It took him almost a whole second to realise that it had all been a dream.

'Just another dream' he thought to himself running a hand through his hair suddenly feeling very hollow inside. John through himself back on the couch pulling the large fluffy blanket further up and over his head...  
Blanket?

John sat back up taking the fluffy material in his hands, he couldn't remember getting himself a blanket, had he woken up and just forgot? But if that was the case why hadn't he just gone to bed? Why stay on the couch?  
'Or maybe...' He though '... Just maybe it had been Sherlock who had gotten the blanket for him...'

John shook his head, no of course not! Sherlock wouldn't do that... Would he?


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock gulped down another shot of some vile tasting liquor.

That was his sixth and it was safe to say that he was drunk, very drunk.  
It was the night before the wedding and he, John and Greg were at some sort of stripper bar. Sherlock didn't understand why people paid money to see strippers, it was pointless and a waste of money.

Sherlock glanced over from the bar to see John and Greg sitting at the table, there was a blond stripper give John some type of lap dance. Sherlock couldn't help sniggering at the look of discomfort and embarrassment on Johns face. Greg was also laughing at Johns expression.

Sherlock ordered another half a dozen shots before making his way back to the table: trying not to spill any of them. Greg let out a crow of delight when Sherlock placed the tray of shots on their table.  
Sherlock was suddenly feeling rather nauseous what with the pulsating lights, pounding techno music and too much alcohol.

After a while the stripper moved from John to Sherlock, who simply batted her away while downing another shot. The stripper made a very audible huff and moved to Greg dragging him up and away from the table.

An awkward silence fell over Sherlock and John. After a while John tried to say something to him but he couldn't hear him over the music. Sighing John moved closer, very close: too close, so he could talk in his ear,

"You alright?" He asked "you look paler than usual."

Moving slightly Sherlock was able to switch there positions so that he was talking into Johns ear,

"One too many shots and these lights aren't helping" he chucked and a shiver traveled down Johns spine, "cold?" Sherlock asked concerned.

"No I'm fine." Sherlock shrugged and let it go.

After they finished the last of the shots John asked,

"Where's Greg?"

"No idea." Sherlock replied not too worried.

After another couple of minutes John stood up, grabbed his coat then leaned down and said in sherlocks ear,

"Come with me" Sherlock nodded grabbing his jacket and following John out. Once they where out of the club John pulled Sherlock into the alley at the side of the building,

"I'm worried about Greg." John said, Sherlock chuckled,

"Don't worry he's a big boy he can take care of himself."

"God you really are drunk aren't you?" Sherlock shrugged at Johns remark: not bothering to reply. John seemed to study him for a few more moments, much to Sherlocks discomfort, then pulled out his phone.

After a few second of furious typing John put his phone back in his pocket.

"Come on" John said grabbing a hold of Sherlocks hand much to his surprise.

"Where?" Sherlock asked as he allowed John to drag him to the main road and call on a taxi.

"Home."

The journey back to 221 Baker street, from the club, was about half an hour but Sherlock didn't mind. There was no rush, especially since the only thing of any real interest to the detective in that moment was the man seated beside him.

Sherlock wasn't sure if it was the drink or his own need that made concentrating on anything, that wasn't John, impossible.

Sherlock causally brushed his knee against the doctors leg in such a way that made it seem like an accident. Sherlock heard Johns breathing hitch slightly and he smiled to himself: maybe John was just as despite for Sherlocks touch, as the detective was for his. In another all to casual move Sherlock let the tips of his fingers brush against Johns thigh. Johns hand shot out pining Sherlocks hand between the doctors hand and his thigh.

Sherlock slowly looked up at John from under his lashes and he looked like he was about to fall apart on the spot. Lips slightly parted and breathing much to heavy, John look at Sherlock with lustful eyes, pupils dilated so that his normally blue eyes looked black: deep and sinister.

A shudder traveled down Sherlocks spin as he looked at John before very deliberately skimming his bottom lip with his tongue and then trapping the soft flesh very delicately between his teeth. John stifled a low moan, moving the hand, that had been trapping Sherlocks, to his mouth in an attempt to muffle the noise. Sherlock smiled at the doctors reaction.

Yes, John defiantly wanted him: the only question now was, how much?

Only on way to find out he thought to himself with a chuckle as he leaned down so his mouth was right at Johns ear and very slowly started to move the hand that was still resting on the good doctors thigh. He traced small circular patterns on Johns leg for a few short moment before letting his had slowly move higher up his leg. Johns hand was suddenly clamping down over his again.

Sherlock let out a low chuckle as he lowered his head so his lips were pressed into the base of Johns neck, kissing and sucking for a few short moments before biting down. Johns hands where suddenly in Sherlocks hair tugging slightly, raising his head as John crashed their mouths together in a feverous kiss.

John bit down on his bottom lip and Sherlock couldn't help the moan that escaped. Tangling his hands in Johns hair Sherlock deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Johns mouth.

It felt warm, wet, and wonderful as Johns tongue joined his in a slow sexual dance.

They were suddenly jolted forward as the cab came to a screeching halt.

"Bloody idiots gonna get someone killed!" The cabbie shouted in the direction of a black mini that had just pulled out directly in front of them.

John and Sherlock were able to quickly fixed themselves in the back seat just before the cabbie turned around with an apologetic smile in his rather wrinkled face,

"Sorry about that, you to alright?" He asked clearly oblivious to what had just been happening.

John proceeded to drag Sherlock out of the taxi once they had arrived at 221B. Closing the door behind them and slighting shoving Sherlock toward the stairs.

Once they where safely back in the flat Sherlock turned and look at the good doctor slouching against the door. His head was upturn, eyes closed and was taking deep breaths.

Sherlock suddenly felt far too tight in his trousers as he watched John trying to catch his breath. Before the doctor even had a chance to open his eyes the consulting detective quickly leaned down and softly brushed his lips against Johns in a light kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

_**heyyy guys sorry this took so long but I'm terrible at writing smut so I had to get my friend Holly to help me haha home yous like! **_

_**This chapter and possibly the next are M rated! Just thought I'd warn you ;) x**_

_Once safely in the flat, Sherlock turned to find the doctor slouching against the door. His head was upturned, eyes closed and lips swollen and parted to take in deep breaths. _

_Sherlock suddenly felt far too tight in his trousers as he watched John catch his breath, busy imagining other things that could make the soldier breathless. _

_The detective leaned down, softly brushing his lips against Johns in the barest semblance of a kiss. _

Johns eyes snapped open as Sherlocks lips tickled his own.

Soft, sweet, not entirely unpleasant: John found himself leaning into Sherlock's warmth. His hands moved to that lean chest, the fine silky material that hugged Sherlocks chiseled torso tangling in his calloused fingers.

Sherlock pulled back slightly and resting their foreheads together.

John couldn't stop the shiver that traveled down his spine as Sherlock's warm breath fanned across his face smelling faintly of mint, brandy and a hint of nicotine- he made a mental note to chastise Sherlock later.

Then, he decided that they weren't close enough: he yanked the detective closer, crushing their lips together.

Frantic and eager, there lips moved together as Sherlock's hands snaked around his blogger's waist, so their bodies pressed together: John couldn't help the moaned that escaped him and the contact of their lower bodies.

Sherlock growled in response.

And wasn't that sexiest sound John had ever heard?

The doctor's teeth grazed Sherlock's bottom lip, then sucked lightly, as his hands carded through the detective's hair: tugging slightly on the dark, luscious curls. Sherlock gasped with a mix of surprise and pleasure at the pressure on his sensitive follicles and John slid his tongue into the sociopaths mouth.

From there it became a battle for dominance, tongues moved and teeth clashed in a deadly dance.

Sherlock ground down onto his leg and John broke away from their heated kiss to chuckle. Sherlock mouthed down his throat kissing and sucking a trail from the base if his ear to his collarbone and back again,

"What's so funny" He asked in between kisses, his voice was low, breathy and husky.

Scratch that previous thought, THAT was the sexist sound he'd ever heard.

"You aren't going to start humping my leg like a horny puppy, are you?" John asked, breathless and smirking as he pictured a 'puppy' Sherlock with floppy ears, a waging tail and a dark scarf. Sherlock let out a dark chuckle against the nape of John's neck, goosebumps blossoming in the track his breath made.

"No, John" Sherlock chuckled, shooting him dangerous smile, "I can do," Sherlocks hand glided from his waist to his stomach, "much" John knew where that hand was heading and his eyes fluttered closed before the visual stimuli became too much, embarrassed to watch Sherlocks as he did... That. "Much" John shivered as Sherlocks fingers brushed the skin of his lower abdomen, as he undid his belt and the button of his jeans "Better." Sherlock pulled down John's jeans and boxers in one fluid motion and John sprang free. The doctor gasped as he was exposed to the cold air of the flat.

John sensed movement and opened his eyes to see that Sherlock was on his knees in front of him, waiting for John to open his eyes before taking him into his mouth. The tip of Johns head hit the back of his throat and the doctor moaned and dug his nails into the wooden door to stop himself grabbing a hold of the luscious dark curls in front of him and fucking that perfect mouth senseless.

A moment passed and Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and sucked. John gasped and his head cracked against the wall behind him as Sherlock started to bob up and down his length: his tongue massaging the sensitive area just under the head.

The feeling of Sherlocks tongue on him was... he never wanted him to stop. The detective set a slow, torturous, rhythm and John felt like he couldn't breath.

The doctor managed to look down and... but God did Sherlock look beautiful: kneeling in front of The doctor, mouth full, black feather duster lashes over hooded eyes, a delicate pink flush tinting his cheeks- oh god those cheekbones!

Sherlocks hands moved to stroke John inner thighs.

John was so close, but he didn't want this to end with Sherlock on his knees.

Letting his hands fist in Sherlocks hair, he tugged lightly: guiding his head back and tilting it up so he could look at him.

Sherlocks eyes were dark, filled with lust and something that John's alcohol clouded brain couldn't place.

Leaning down John connected there lips in soft kiss, he could taste himself on Sherlocks tongue and his cock twitched at the erotic realisation.

After a moment, the soldier pulled back and Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact and John chuckled lowly at the noise. The detective groaned his response.

God, John wanted him so bad and no part of him was in a fit state to argue as he helped Sherlock to his feet and, taking a hold of his hand, guided them towards the bedroom.

**okay guys let me know what you's think and also if you's want me to continue on this smut path or just jump to the morning after!**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was tossed onto the bed. Black silk sheets hit his back and Sherlock worried, for a moment, that they might be too slippery, but John was quickly atop him: straddling his hips. John pulled off his warm beige jumper and sat on top of Sherlock, now completely naked.

Sherlock's cock filled out at the sight of John: his skin glowing in the moonlight that sliced into the room, body all hard muscle and old scars which Sherlock itched to explore.

Naked and grinning, John was powerful, dangerous and ... unbelievably sexy.

Callous fingers found the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, lightly brushing at the soft skin of his chest as he worked them open. When John's digits touched the skin of his lower abdomen, Sherlock's hips bucked and John hissed out a moan as their erections collided.

Once he was done, John very slowly slid the material away from Sherlocks toned chest, so it tickled at his sides. Leaning down, he kissed a burning trail down Sherlock's chest. The detective let out a cry of surprised pleasure when John's teeth collided with a nipple.  
His back arched: pushing the hard nub further into the warmth of John's mouth.

While Johns mouth worked, bitting, teasing and sucking one, his hand rubbed and tweaked the other, making it stand up and beg for attention. Sherlock turned his head into the pillow next to him, to muffle his moans. His hips bucked helplessly, the bulge at this crotch rubbing, without rhythm, against John's exposed shaft.

John let out a low guttural moan and Sherlocks cock throbbed in response. He needed him now.

"J-Johnnn" Sherlock groaned as his blogger palmed him firmly through his trousers.

"What do you want Sherlock?" John hissed before nibbling and sucking on the lope of his ear. Sherlocks hands groped John's hips and he ground into him, puffs of warm air brushing the doctor's neck as he did so.  
"Nnnnh god!" John gasped, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's dark curls and moving with him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Sherlock could feel warm pressure building in his stomach: all of his muscles tensing in anticipation (of what Sherlock was sure). The sensation continued to build as they ground into each other. Their rhythm was lost as the movements became frantic, Sherlock could feel himself coming to the peak of something. It was only when he was on the verge that he figured out what was going on.

"... Gon.. na cum!" His growl trickled out through gritted teeth.  
For the first time in his life.  
He felt a sweeping sense of panic: which was quickly shoved aside by the overwhelming pleasure of a particularly hard thrust from his blogger.

"John... I-I'm.. Clo.." Sherlock gasped in warning , his body wound so tight he felt something might snap, he could hardly speak.  
Oh god he was so close. His whole form shook with realisation.

"Oh, Let go baby" John moaned into Sherlocks neck.

And that was it, Sherlock fell past the point of no return. He shouted out a fractured "john!" as his world exploded into white, blinding, heat.

The high was... exquisite- better than that of any drug he'd ever had- he never wanted to come down. He was vaguely aware he was being stripped of the last of his clothes, his legs prodded gently apart: he didn't care.

It wasn't until he felt something warm and slick enter him through a major exit that he came crashing back to earth. Sherlock let out a low hiss of pain as John's didget started to work him open, quickly joined by another one.

It was uncomfortable, burning slightly, but not unbearable, and when his inner muscled gave little resistance, a third finger was thrust into him.  
Sherlock cried out in pain at the sudden intrusion and John halted in his ministrations with the sound, leaving his three fingers fully imbedded inside of Sherlock.

"You alright baby?" John rasped, voice filled with carnal lust and tinged with concern.

"Fine" Sherlock huffed as he wriggled down onto John's fingers.

After a moment John started to work him open again, scissoring his fingers: the feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant. And then one of Johns fingers brushed against Sherlocks prostate and the detective keened, his cock twitching, beginning to rise to attention once more. John looked down at Sherlocks re-hardening member and smirked, slowly removing his fingers from Sherlock. The sociopath let out a low whine of protest, feeling hollow without his blogger's fingers filling him.

Sherlock heard the snap of a bottle lid and then John was hoisting his legs up, hitching them around his waist.  
Leaning down, John placed a small soft kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth, and slammed into him.  
As soon as he was fully imbedded in Sherlock, John held perfectly still, trying to allow him some time to adjust.

The pain was all Sherlock could comprehend, it felt like he had been, rather violently, ripped open. But the burning ache was starting to ebb, leaving Sherlock feeling too full, but in a good way, the way you felt after Christmas dinner, if you participated in such things.

It felt wrong, but at the same time he never wanted it to end.  
John's eyes where fixated on Sherlock's as he waiting for him to adjust to the near-overwhelming sensation.

Sherlock let out a long, slow breath and John leaned down to press kisses to Sherlock's face, before finally finding his mouth. Johns lips were wet and tasted salty as he kissed Sherlock. John pulled back and raised his hand, brushing it across Sherlocks cheek, he could feel moisture as John's hand caressed his face.  
The detective now knew the sourse of the sodium chloride on his bloggers lips: he, Sherlock Holmes, was crying. He had never, as far as he knew, cried in front of anyone before, not even when he was a very small boy.

"I'm sorry" John whispered, still caressing his cheek. Sherlock gave him a small smile,  
"I'm fine." He said: stubborn as always. John let out a low chuckle, ducking away before turning back to Sherlock, completely serious,  
"If it's... Too much, we can stop."  
"No!" Sherlock shouted, before composing him self, "I-I... Want you John" he whispered, cheeks flushing a delicate pink at his own admission.

John groaned at his words and nodded before, very carefully, pulling out of Sherlock then burying himself, oh so slowly, back in. John kept up this slow rhythm, allowing Sherlock to get accustomed to the sensation.  
The detective could see that it was taking all of Johns efforts not to just give in and fuck him senseless right there.

The doctor seemed to be searching for something and, after a few slow thrusts, he found it. John's cock teased across Sherlock's prostate and he threw back his head and gasped as the pleasure throbbed through him.

John repositioned slightly, now hitting Sherlocks prostate with every thrust. The detective moaned as John continued his slow assault. The only though in his now useless brain was: more, more, more!  
"John.." He breathed, rising to meet his hips with short thrusts with his own, "f-faster!"

John let out a low grunt of acknowledgment, gripping Sherlock's hips and picking up the pace. Sherlock could feel pressure building again as John pounded into him. He knew he was close, impossibly close. He was right there, teetering dangerously on the edge but he couldn't fall over. John continued to hit Sherlocks sweet spot with every thrust and Sherlock couldn't take it.

His cock was streaming rivers of pre-cum, the detective tried to raise his hand to stroke himself but John took hold of both of his wrists: pining them on the pillow, above his head. Sherlock let out a groan of frustration, he needed release: this... It was too much.  
"J-Jawnnn... God, please!" John's only reply was a particularly hard thrust.

Sherlock could see that his blogger was close, his thrusts became erratic and irregular. The detective was writhing and moaning under him with want and need. Oh god... He couldn't take it,  
"Come on baby," John panted, "cum for me" John's voice was full with want, lust and something else... It was warm and caring.

An emotion that the sociopath knew about, but had never actually experienced before... Love.  
John loved him. John; his best friend, his blogger, his... Lover, his John.

And Sherlock fell over the edge, coming undone once more. John followed suit almost immediately after.

When Sherlock came down again John was lying on top of him, trembling slightly and trying to catch his breath. Sherlock smiled, his long fingers started rubbing circled into John's back. After a moment the solider shifted, pulling out of sherlock with a wet schlop sound, and lay down beside him: pulling the detective into his arms. Sherlock welcomed the warm embrace of his... Lover (The title would take some getting use to) and snuggling into Johns side. John chuckled softly, tiredly, before placed a kiss on his head.  
"John?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Promise me something?" John pulled back slightly to gaze down at Sherlock.  
"Anything" Came John's instant reply.  
"Never let me go..." John laughed and Sherlock could feel his cheeks heating for the second time that evening, he tried to amend the statement, but before Sherlock could say anything else John captured his mouth in a soft kiss. When John pulled back he smiled down at Sherlock.  
"Never." he promised.  
Sherlock smiled to himself as he nuzzled closer to John and closed his eyes: feeling completely content for the first time in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing John realised when he woke the next morning was that he had a pounding headache. John swore to himself that he would never drink again. The next thing he noticed was that he wasn't in his bed, the sheets of the bed were far to delicate to be his own standard polyester sheets: no, they almost felt like cool water under his naked form... Naked?! His eyes flew open, it was still dark but the light of the moon was enough for him to see by.

He was in Sherlocks bed, in 221b Baker Street!

Had everything been another torturous dream?

Was Sherlock really dead?

His own heart seemed to break at the thought alone. John turned to look at the alarm clock, that sat on the bedside table at the other end of the double bed- what time was it anyway? That was when John noticed another form lying in the bed beside him.

John's first reaction was to believe that it was Mary: but that couldn't be right. First off this wasn't their home, so why would she be here? Also the fact that this figure was much to tall to be her with dark... Curly... Hair.

Sherlock Holmes was lying next to him, fast asleep! As John's eyes adjusted he realised that the sheets had fallen almost completely off Sherlocks body to reveal that he was, also, naked... Oh god...

John tried to remember what had happened last night but all he could only recall blurry snippets here and there; going out for drinks with Sherlock and Greg, the stripper, getting into a taxi with Sherlock... the next thing he could remember was Sherlock underneath him; shouting no, telling him to '...let me go', crying...

John was horrified. What had he done?! To Mary, to Sherlock? Had he... Rapped Sherlock? John shuddered at the thought that he had done something as vile as that to someone he had claimed to care about? John was suddenly glad that he couldn't remember most of it... He didn't want to know, now or ever!

John slid out of the bed. He looked down at Sherlock... God the man really was beautiful... 'No! After what you've done you have no right to breath the same air as him!' John chastised himself as he saw the, finger tip size, bruises that littered Sherlock torso, arms and legs.

He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do: he just knew he couldn't... Wouldn't stay here. John looked down at his own body covered in crust and cum... He needed to take a shower...

Under the hot water John tried to think what to do but the only thing he could come up with was to get his clothes and leave: where? He wasn't sure. He had to get out, after all, Sherlock wouldn't want him here when he woke up...

Once he was out of the shower, towel wrapped firmly around his waist, John decided to search for his clothes. After a few moments John found his jumper at the foot of the bed, but he couldn't find the rest of his clothes anywhere in the room.

Going out into the living room John found the rest of his clothes at the front door.

Once he was fully clothed John sat down to think about what he would do. He couldn't go back home to Mary. Hell he was supposed to be getting married today, but he couldn't marry her now..., and he couldn't just leave without telling her, right? John let out a sigh of frustration. Okay so he'd go back, tell Mary he couldn't marry her and pack his bags... Then what? He couldn't bare to leave London but staying there would mean the constant threat of running into Sherlock... No he wouldn't be able to bare that! So he would leave London, but where would he go?...To the border, he decided: rent a room there and try to start afresh, away from Sherlock and Mary.

John got up, deciding this was as good a plan as any. As John opened the door he turned back to look at the living room of 221b, trying to commit it to memory. He had and some of the best... and worse moments of his life here. He could remember the first day he had walked into this room, with Sherlock and Mrs Hudson; Insulting Sherlocks stuff: accidentally of course, Greg showing up and asking Sherlock for help, Sherlock asking him if he would like to see some more injuries and violent deaths...

John let out a low chuckle at the memory, closing the door behind him, and rushed down the stairs, he could remember his reply: not realizing, at the time, just what he was letting himself in for. A taxi pulled up and he gave the address, his mind still going through the memory. That one event that had started his new life of crime solving with Sherlock: the life he was now, officially, leaving behind,

'Oh god yes!"

AN: yes I know it's short and sad but I had to put this in... God my Moffat side is really starting to get the better of me in this story...

Ps. beemoh your feeling was spot on ;) And yes you should be scared...


	10. Chapter 10

When Sherlock woke, and found himself alone in bed, he knew something was wrong.

He quickly got up, dressed and made his way around their small apartment looking for John. When he couldn't find him anywhere in their old home, he started to worry.

That worry turned into full blown panic when Sherlock noticed that John's coat and clothes were also missing.

The consulting detective checked the fridge to make sure that there was plenty of milk, eggs and other groceries. After a quick scout of the kitchen Sherlock came to the conclusion that John hadn't gone out shopping and today was his day off so where was he?...

Wait what was the date!?...

Sherlock sprinted back into his room, retrieving his phone and checking today's date...

It was meant to be the wedding today...

Oh dear god Mary! What had he done?...

Wait! Was John still going to marry her?

Sherlocks heart seemed to go silent at the thought.

His John, married to someone else?

It felt like someone had plunged their hands into his chest and stomach: ripping out his heart and making him feel nauseous in the same instant.

No that couldn't be, last night he said he would stay...

Sherlock quickly dialed Johns number and held the phone to his ear. He bit his lip in frustration when the phone rang out. He threw the phone on to the bed and let out a frustrated sigh. He felt so lost in that moment.

Lost without John.

He didn't know what to do. John was gone but he had no clue as to where he might have been. He didn't know were to begin to look for him! He couldn't go to the yard because he had no proof that John was in trouble (except his stomach knotting and knotting it's self).

There was a sudden ding from his phone, a text. John?! Sherlock jumped on to the bed and retrieved his phone. It was a text from Mary...

Sherlock was suddenly filled with a new fear. Did she know?

Sherlock had never been too fond of her, especially after she tried to take his John. However she was someone that, maybe, if there circumstances were different they could have been... Well not friends... But well... You get the idea.

After a moment of deliberation Sherlock derided to open the text

**_Tick Tock, Mister Holmes._**

**_- CAM_**

Sherlock looked at the text for what felt like hours but he couldn't figure out what it meant, then it hit him:

John.

John was in danger, possibly Mary too seeing at it was her phone this Cam had used. He knew that he had to find John and fast but how?

Sherlocks mind went blank. All he could think about was John. John was in danger, he could be hurt! He could be killed!

He might already be dead! What would he do without his John?!

_'I'd be lost without my blogger'_

Okay Sherlock you can do this just think! He thought to himself shaking his head.

Who would know where he had gone? He doubted that John would have been able to tell anyone but someone must have seen him.

So who would have seen? He doubted any of his homeless network would know...

So who else has eyes and ears all over the city...

Sherlock let out a groan as he realized who he'd have to go to for... Help...

Mycroft.

**AN: okay guys I hoped you's enjoyed that because I won't be updating again for a couple of weeks dew to the fact that next week I am sitting my first set of exams :/**


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